Virtue
by Nyxelestia
Summary: Arthur's POV of my fic "Rapture". When an unknown man is burned for his kindness and yet still gives hope, Arthur refuses to bend to his father's tyranny - and he's prepared to take the backlash for it, knowing he won't be alone in the aftermath. Slash
1. Deliver Us From Evil

_**Deliver Us From Evil (Virtue: Part 1)**_

**A/N:**** I was procrastinating my online driving lessons…then my college writing course…then my homework…then my project…then my NaNoWriMo…and I got to this. **

**Arthur's POV of the events in my fic, **_**Rapture**_**.**

**...I never learn...  
**

* * *

It seems sorcerers could never bear to do anything half-arsed when they truly set their minds to something. The man Arthur faced now had healed an entire court with one spell from some magical disease.

And now, he was being burned for it.

He didn't even have a name. No one had known it when he came, and when asked in the dungeons, he did not give one.

Arthur didn't blame the man.

He was down on the street to watch the proceedings. He could not and would not stand by his father and watch a man burn for saving everyone's lives.

Beside him, Merlin turned his head away, and Arthur's reserve hardened as he pondered the guilt he knew Merlin would be facing at letting this man burn when he was fully capable of stopping it. But it was too late to save the man without revealing himself, and they both knew Merlin was more important to the future of the kingdom, of Albion, and Arthur, for his part, could not bear to lose Merlin.

In a sense, he was rather glad the man had been there, to heal where Merlin would have done the same, to take the fall for Merlin, letting his Merlin live.

And he hated himself for thinking that.

As the last of the bales of hay were laid out, Arthur pressed a hand against Merlin's hip, hidden beneath their cloaks as he did his best to comfort Merlin and support himself.

Despite the lack of any particular resemblance between the two, all Arthur could see as he looked at the man was Merlin. Because his imagination, his inner eye, were all too vivid, and it was far too easy to see Merlin standing up there in tone clothing, Merlin in shackles over broken skin, Merlin slumping, dejected, against the post as he awaited his death, Merlin screaming as he burned from the outside-in, Merlin-

_No._

He mentally shook himself away from that train of thought. There was a reason he didn't let Merlin anywhere near the flames, even something as simple as a candle. After all, what if the idiot caught himself on fire or something? He knew that it would leave not even the slightest burn, but Arthur knew his imagination would be given an inch and take a mile for it.

It was given _nothing_ at night and took leagues, dreams of Merlin on the pyre, of Morgana, of countless faces Arthur helped to put there, their souls taking every reflection and every mirror as Camelot rose and fell by magic, and by sword, and regardless of who burned, Merlin was no longer _there_.

During these nights, Merlin seemed to understand Arthur's fears enough to slip quietly into his bed, holding him tightly, being the first thing Arthur felt, saw, _smelled_ when he awoke. He said nothing and would hold Arthur tightly as Arthur knew Guinevere did Morgana, and would thankfully speak nothing of it the next morning.

Beside him, Merlin tightened his cloak around himself. Arthur wondered if it was just against the chill, or something else entirely.

"This isn't right," Morgana said from beside him, giving a sympathetic glance towards Merlin, and inexplicably, towards him as well.

Merlin smiled sadly.

Arthur turned and watched as his father read out the man's sentence, citing only magic, making no mention of his this man save the lives of an entire court with it.

"Light the flames!" Uther's voice rang out.

As the pyre erupted in flames, Arthur's hand tightened, as Merlin's face writhed in the fire in his mind's eye.

There was little, at first, but then the smoke filled the courtyard. Arthur had never noticed it, before, being above the smoke in the balcony for all previous executions, being at a level where it had usually dissipated into the air before he would properly breathe it in.

Merlin had foreseen this, though, and handed Arthur his neckerchief, wet, to press against his face against the smoke.

The burning warlock on the pyre had turned his face into his shoulder. Arthur pitied the man if his instinct made him do this – he would have not merciful death by smoke, but a painful one by flames.

Guinevere was crying, and Morgana had wrapped her arm around the girl's shoulders, pulling their bodies close for comfort.

Arthur had to fight to keep himself from doing the same with Merlin. He wanted, desperately, to pull Merlin to his chest, right now, and wrap his cloak around both of them, sharing their body warmth and keeping them both safe.

As it was, he nearly jumped when he felt Merlin's hand over his own on Merlin's hip. But he would not move it. This was discreet enough, and his father would not see it.

_"Our Father who art in Heaven,"_ the man suddenly yelled out.

What the hell?

_"Hallowed be thy Name,"_ he continued.

And Arthur smiled, at the warlock's last defiance, and grinned at the look of fury on his father's face. However, the laws of Camelot allowed even a sorcerer their dying prisoners. Even Royalty had no right to interfere with God, no matter how vile the king found the idea of a sorcerer reciting words so holy.

Arthur knew the comfort in words sorcerers found. Merlin explained it once, why he kept using spells when he did not need them for his magic, why poetry and stories came more easily to him in working than song and tune, why he could keep knowledge found in half the books in the castle in his head and yet barely remember to wear matching socks in the mornings.

_"Thy Kingdom come!"_ the man yelled. Arthur blinked in shock to realize the man was staring at Arthur as he said this. His eyes begged something of Arthur, something which Arthur wasn't sure he could give, but he was damn well going to try.

He nodded his promise to the man. For him. For Merlin. For Camelot. For Albion.

_"Thy will be done,"_ and now, the man's gaze fell across Arthur and Merlin and all the rest.

_"On Earth as it is in heaven,"_ and this prompted the man to gaze back to the sky, making a pact between none but himself and the gods, whoever they were.

_"Give us this day, our daily bread,"_ and Arthur wondered at the rope-thin man and what bread he has received in his life. _"And forgive us our trespasses."_

And then the man's gaze turned to his father, above them all.

_"As we forgive those who trespass us."_

…this man was _insane_ if he was forgave Uther.

But then Arthur took in the look on his father's face at the realization and decided maybe the man wasn't so insane, after all. Bloody warlocks…

_"And lead us not into temptation!"_ The man looked into the crowd, at _Merlin_ of all people, and glancing sideways, Arthur saw Merlin's eyes flash gold.

They all had their promises to make and keep.

_"And deliver us from evil."_

And with that line, he turned his face heavenward, looking for something, someone, beyond that which the earth could provide.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Merlin's eyes flash gold again.

The flames behind the man rose spectacularly, branching off in opposite directions, just behind the man, making the people gasp in awe as they took an impossible form, as they became wings.

Perhaps holiness had little to do with what god you worshipped and more to do with how it was done – how you helped their creations, the people, the true pieces that made up the whole of Albion.

He wondered where this would put him, and put Merlin.

_"For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, for ever and ever!"_

And the flames turned white, almost blinding but not quite, and rose even more, almost as if ready to take flight, and indeed the wings spread in flight as the man screamed, _"Amen!"_

With that, the wings of flame came down in one flap, before vanishing without further lighting the pyre, the yellow flames of death still but a ring around him as he screamed in rapture beyond the understanding of mere mortals still fully part of this realm – for indeed, this man was no longer completely here.

As the wings vanished, the man suddenly slumped, a puppet with his strings cut, except he held his own strings. His eyes were open and vacant.

He was dead.

And along with everyone else around him, Arthur lowered his head in prayer.

_Amen_


	2. Held By A Kiss

**Held By A Kiss (Virtue: Part 2)**

* * *

As the man's death rippled through the crowd of onlookers, Arthur's hand tightened over Merlin's hip, clenching as he forced himself to remind himself that Merlin was alive, and right here beside him.

"Take his body down!" someone yelled. Arthur marveled at the child's bravery for yelling that out so loud, for it certainly sounded like a child.

He agreed with the child – and had always been a man of action.

He pushed Merlin aside and strode forward towards the scaffold. A few of the guards were ready to help, a bucket of water being held and a knife out, before his father yelled out, "A flogging to anyone who tries!"

Arthur blamed no one for freezing in that moment – no one quite wanted to get flogged for the sake of a dead man.

Arthur, however, was willing to take that punishment in the name of justice, and he was willing to get flogged for Merlin's sake.

He continued on his path, heaving the bucket of water out of the guard's arms and splashing himself a path through the ring of flames towards the dead man.

"Arthur!" his father yelled in rage. "This means you, too."

Arthur ignored him in favor of finding himself a way to the body, and Uther called out, "So be it on your head!"

Arthur finally looked up, nodding in determination at his father. On his part, the king's eyes narrowed, but he said no more, only standing back and crossing his arms, challenging Arthur to go any further in his actions.

He knew his son – Arthur never backed down from a challenge.

Stepping through the flames, Arthur pulled out the knife from his boot and sliced the ropes, shoving the knife back into his boot before he pulled the ropes away, catching the body as it fell.

He held the man beneath his knees and shoulders, lifting him up with ease.

Even his _weight_ was all too similar to Merlin, and Arthur dreaded ever needing to carry Merlin like this, for any reason.

He walked off the pyre, and saw Merlin duck his head. A moment later, he felt heat on his back and heard the steam rising as the ring of flames closed to continue burning the empty pyre.

The silence was deafening as Arthur carried the man to the body cart, and set it down gently, reverently. He unclasped his own cloak – the last he could do for the man – and covered the man with it, using the hood to cover his face.

Looking to the king for a cue, the undertaker sighed at Arthur's look and cracked his whip on the horse. The crowd parted like the Red Sea before Moses, and before long, the body was gone.

Arthur blinked in surprise when he felt another cloak being draped across his shoulders, and did not have to turn to know it was Merlin – he would recognize that touch, anywhere.

The silence continued on for another moment, before his father yelled, "Guards – seize him, and take him to the dungeons."

He turned to see Merlin's eyes widened, but Arthur shot him a warning glare, before turning around passively – making the cloak fall back off – and clasped his hands behind his back, the shackles going on his wrist easily.

The guards walked Arthur towards the castle. He moved his head only once – to send a defiant, guiltless look towards his father.

The king did not respond.

Neither did his father.

* * *

"Arthur?"

Arthur's head jerked up at the sound of Merlin's voice. "Mm?"

He opened his eyes and looked up to see Merlin standing in front of him, gentle smile on his face and food in his hands.

"Dinner," Merlin said easily, holding up the plate.

How Merlin managed to fit that much food onto one small plate was best not to ponder, and he smiled as Merlin kneeled by him.

"Just for me?" he asked.

Merlin grinned. "Er, she may have been hinting at me to stay with you for the meal."

Hm. "Will the guards let you?" He hoped they would. But then-

"They just let me through without announcing myself formally, and didn't say a word when they let me in."

"They also just locked the door behind you."

Merlin turned his head to see, and upon seeing the locked cell door, turned back and shrugged, sitting himself down more firmly, balancing the place on his lap as he asked, "I heard the king met with you, in here, earlier today?"

Of _course_ that would be the first thing Merlin would ask.

He nodded in answer as he took a piece of bread from the plate. The meeting had not gone well, at all. They had shouted and yelled, argued over everything, and nearly lashed out at each other, too.

It was one of the worst fights they'd had in… in forever. Possibly the worst fight they'd ever had, outweighed only by their fight from the aftermath of the Morgause debacle.

Turning his attention to the bread so he would only have to observe Merlin in his peripheral vision, he said, "My sentence will be fifteen lashes for disobeying a direct order from my king."

Merlin had been about to eat a slice of stake, but it froze on the way to his mouth. Arthur kept his sights firmly pinned on the bread.

"Fifteen?!" he cried out. "That… you'll die!"

Leave it to Merlin…

"I won't _die_, Merlin," Arthur said, exasperated as he took a bite of bread, before looking up at Merlin. "Men have gotten almost twice as much and lived."

"Not for very long afterward!" Merlin yelped. And yes, _maybe_ he had a point, but as a prince, he also had resources not available for the common man.

And as a prince, he was the best man to be made an example of.

"I… that's… isn't that just a tad bit _excessive_ to you?" Merlin continued, having completely forgotten his steak by now.

Arthur sighed, letting his shoulders slump. "It was originally supposed to be ten."

Merlin frowned. "Then why…?"

For refusing to back down and submit. "For refusing to apologize to him."

"Well, _that_ was smart."

Like he was one to talk.

Arthur looked up from the bread and said firmly, "It _was_. I have spent the first two decades of my life bending to his every will without thought. I am not going to be his little puppet, anymore!"

And he wasn't. He was no longer going to be the idle blade of grass under his father's boots, bent and crushed on a whim. He was no longer going to be a mindless puppet for his ruthless king, nor carry out the injustices of a man blinded by rage and grief and power.

Merlin seemed about ready to try and answer that, but apparently didn't find anything to say. "Bloody noble prat."

Merlin seemed rather fond of that phrase.

Rolling his eyes affectionately, Arthur bit into his bread against before asking, far more seriously, "How are _you_ doing?"

Merlin smiled fondly as he said, "I'm pretty sure you get more nightmares from these than I do."

It baffled Arthur, sometimes, how it was Merlin could be so calm in the face of all these executions of his kind, especially when Arthur was… was…

…was left so terrified.

Merlin's eyes flashed gold with the very power that made Arthur feel so much fear, and the meats and breads were warm again on the plate. Handing a piece of venison to Arthur, Merlin said, "C'mon, you'll need your strength, tomorrow."

As if he needed reminding.

"You do know being flogged basically means kneeling in one spot, right?" Arthur said, trying to use humor to mask his terror as he sighed and added, "I've only been flogged once in my life. I was about… sixteen? Almost seventeen, at any rate. I got into some tiff another knight, and that spiraled out of control with my father, and, well… I got three strokes for that. I've been multiplying it by five in my head, and…"

It was almost unimaginable.

Almost.

Which made it even worse.

Merlin looked pained as he bit into another grape.

"Maybe he'll reduce it to ten if you apologize, anyway-"

"_No_," Arthur said. "I am _not_ going to go _crawling_ to my father to beg for mercy!"

He refused to go back, because that would be exactly what he would have to do – metaphorically crawl on his knees and grovel for mercy.

Arthur had pride. And nobility. And a true sense of justice and fairness.

With another sigh, sounding fondly regretful to Arthur's ears, Merlin set down the tray, leaned forward, and kissed Arthur. It tasted of worry and strength, and Arthur drank it in like a man at a stream who's spent the entire day working in the sun.

Smiling as they parted, Arthur said, "I'll be _fine_."

* * *

Arthur shivered as he was led out onto the scaffold, forced to kneel by the post. The guards slit his tunic down and across the back almost regretfully, leaving it to fall away completely as it bared his back. But they still chained him to the post.

Uther was still king, after all.

"Prince Arthur Pendragon of Camelot," his father called out from high up, as though Arthur weren't his son. "You are hereby sentenced to fifteen lashes by half-braid whip for disobeying a direct order from your king, whom you have sworn oath to."

Hm – he'd expected one of the sharper whips. But he wasn't going to complain about the half-whip – it was less likely to leave open scars, and result in welts that would fade away in a few weeks' time.

However, the difference was that the pain was still the same as a normal whip.

And even if it was less likely to leave scars, that possibility was still there.

Arthur said nothing as the people gasped at the number, and Uther looked to the already-regretful executioner and said, "Begin."

The whip was whistling through the air, and landed on Arthur's back with a sharp, _CRACK._

Arthur grunted and nearly fell forward against the post as a line of fire erupted across his back and shoulders, already dreading the remaining fourteen strikes as the pain rippled throughout his whole body from that single line of agony.

When he managed to open his eyes again, Merlin was standing in his line of vision, face betraying his heartbroken expression.

He was able to stand seeing Arthur hurt about as much as Arthur was able to see Merlin hurt – which was to say, almost not at all.

_CRACK_

As the next strike landed, Arthur shook as he bit his lip against the pain. He knew he would not be able to keep silent for long, but he was going to try his hardest for as long as he could.

He had dignity. He knew no one would blame him or think he lost any should he cry out, but Arthur had his own set of standards to adhere to.

They were the standards of a king destined to unite all of Albion.

_CRACK_

Arthur jerked in the chains and grunted in yet more pain, hating his father as he barely managed to keep from letting any other sound pass his lips as he heard the gasps and cries of sympathy from the crowds around him.

_CRACK_

Arthur's hatred spread to the guards, the executioner, the whip, the scaffold, _everything_ when he heard Merlin whimper in time with the sounds of his own pain on this strike.

_CRACK_

"_Nggh_…" Arthur's grunt was a little more drawn out, this time. The sound reminded him too much of the noise he made when he and Merlin fucked for his comfort. It was _wrong_ for the sound of his pain to match so closely to the sounds of his pleasure.

_CRACK_

"Ungh…" Arthur groaned, struggling to breathe as the pain intensified with each blow. He couldn't feel which strikes had left marks and which hadn't, all of them agonizing, but he could feel the warm trickle of blood down his back, so he knew there were already open wounds.

_CRACK_

"Agh!" Arthur cried out, falling forward again, being held up by a chain that rattled in cold sympathy.

_CRACK_

Still semi-recovering from the last blow, Arthur choked on the sound, this time, only a whimper coming out that was soft enough that Arthur, himself, barely heard it – but it was enough that it came out at all.

_CRACK_

"_Argh!_" Arthur couldn't stop the sound, this time.

_CRACK_

"Aah!" he yelled out, feeling blood trickle down his shoulders and chest. It appears Arthur, for all that he got a half-braid whip, got an old one with fraying braids, more of them leaving open wounds than not.

_CRACK_

"ARGH!" He screwed his eyes shut as he screamed, wishing desperately for it all to end.

_CRACK_

This time, his scream slipped into a sob as he trembled in pain on the scaffold, the shackles being the only thing holding him up as the whip whistled through the air and towards his back again.

_CRACK_

He heard matching sobs and cries from somewhere close by. It sounded like Gwen.

He heard only silence from Merlin, and hoped this was a good thing.

_CRACK_

Arthur clutched at the chains as another sob was ripped out of him by force, and flinched as he heard the ominous whistle through his pain-shut eyes.

_CRACK_

Arthur whimpered and clutched at the chain desperately, having lost track of the counts by now, but feeling endlessly relieved when he heard no whistle, and even the few footsteps of the executioner backing away.

He felt his entire back dripping in blood. The burn was agonizing, but it was also a reminder of yesterday's events.

Raising his face, Arthur only looked up and turned his head to turn a blank, unreadable expression upon Uther.

No matter the pain, no matter the agony, he would not bend to the king.

And he no longer had a father to bend to.


	3. By Blood, By Love

_**Bly Blood, By Love (Virtue: Part 3)**_

* * *

Arthur's head fell from pain-induced weakness after he made sure Uther knew he hadn't given in. A moment later, the shackles were unlocked, and lacking any support, Arthur fell forward, half on the pole and half across the scaffold floor, the movement causing the wounds to rebel with pain.

"It's okay," he heard Merlin murmur, and felt the faint touch on the back of his neck in comfort. Arthur turned his head towards Merlin as he said, "I'm here…"

Arthur felt relief wash through him as he saw Merlin there, a comforting and reassuring presence, and Merlin unwrapped a cloak from around his arms, and Arthur remembered the plan he'd thought up of the night before in the dungeons.

"_No_," he rasped.

Merlin frowned, looking rather alarmed. "It's freezing out here-"

"Let the people see what the king has done."

His servant hesitated, but his friend nodded in reluctant agreement, draping the cloak across his shoulders, followed by one of Arthur's arms, the other one taken up by Gwen.

They lifted him up easily, the strength of servants not to be underestimated, even if it did not match that of a knight's, and Arthur hissed in pain as it pulled at the wounds.

He knew it would be a long time before he truly felt no pain – and possibly, considering the scars, he might never be completely painless again.

As they slowly but carefully led Arthur forward, and down off the scaffold, he managed a glimpse of the people, seeing their horrified faces at the state of their beloved prince, from the punishment wrought of kindness.

He couldn't see the king's face, but he knew the man would be glaring, knowing exactly what Arthur was doing and being in no position to be able to stop it without worsening the public's opinion of himself.

Once in the castle, Arthur truly saw how much of the people's sympathy he had. Guards saluted with sadness in their eyes, stepping aside not just for the prince, but for the entire procession of the servants supporting him, and Morgana and Gaius behind him, bowing to them all, far deeper than normal and more respect in their stances than Arthur ever got after even the most successful of war campaigns.

Servants gasped in shock and sympathy at Arthur's state, and when an entire gaggle of servants scattered upon seeing Arthur, Merlin murmured in Arthur's ear, "Thy kingdom come."

Arthur nodded, and winced as Gwen slipped out from under his arm, and Morgana took her place, not caring about the blood over her dress.

"This isn't right," she said, as Gwen and Gaius went ahead, probably to prepare his rooms. "This isn't right at all."

"So you said," Arthur mumbled from where his head hung low, now that no one else was around. "Come up with new material."

"I was just testing to see how far gone you were. Apparently, not _too_ badly. Who knows, maybe now you can move up to learning how to dress yourself," Morgana said, as they reached a staircase.

Gwen and Gaius would have plenty of time to prepare Arthur's chambers, that was for sure.

"You're one to talk, barely able to don a dress without Gwen's help…" Arthur bit back, falling into the comforting pattern of age-old arguments as they slowly made their way.

He turned his head to see Merlin smiling in relief as he and Morgana bickered.

When they reached Arthur's rooms, his sister and his lover laid him down on a layer of towels on his bed, Arthur wincing and hissing at the pain as they lifted his head to put a pillow underneath.

As soon as the door was locked, he turned to Merlin and said, "No magic. My father will be keeping a close eye on me, and will be suspicious." He hated that he couldn't use magic for these wounds, and he knew it would rip Merlin apart, but it wouldn't do to arouse the king's suspicion _now_, especially by the very wounds caused by defending magic in the first place.

"I don't like it," Merlin said.

"And I do?" he retorted, dropping his head into his arms, folded around the pillow as they were. "If I heal too fast, or too well…" He trailed off, letting a deep-seated fear and new loathing of Uther finish the thoughts for him.

He heard Merlin whisper some words, and the water was warm when Gwen started cleaning his wounds. He bit his lip, for even though the water itself was relaxing, any water against his wounds were excruciating, and he still felt the bone-deep need to keep silent in the face of all pain. It was an anchor that had served him well since childhood. Even if it had been instilled by his father, it worked now faced with pain brought down from the king.

He felt someone pull the pillow away from his arms, and almost protested until he felt Merlin's lap beneath his head, instead. He smiled into Merlin's trousers and wrapped his arms around Merlin's waist, settling himself in as he continued to jerk in pain as Gwen cleaned his wounds in grim silence.

In a moment, he felt Morgana take his hand in a tight but comforting grip, and Gaius applied various herbs to his back. Stabilizing linen strips were placed on the lines of his scars, and padding for the blood went on soon after.

He nearly bit his lip in half as Merlin helped Arthur sit up so Gaius could bandage his torso while Gwen removed the bloody towels.

It was with no little relief that Arthur was able to lay back down, wrapping his arms around Merlin again.

"I didn't foresee this," he heard Morgana say. "I had a dream about an angel being burned at the stake, but not _this_."

Hm – weird.

"Arthur's never been particularly predictable," Merlin offered with a wry, fond smile. Arthur snorted into the flesh of Merlin's thigh, wishing the clothes weren't there so he could bite it.

"Well," Gaius said to the sound of clinking glass vials and clay pots. "These wounds are healing nicely, sire. Merlin, you know how to fix it if anything goes wrong. Good day."

Gaius left the room. Gwen helped stoke the fire as Morgana helped get Arthur's lower body under the covers, and she stopped by Arthur's head when she was done.

Reaching out and stroking his neck, she said quietly, "Next time… well, let's pray that there isn't a next time. Just… just get better, Arthur – I mean it." Arthur hoped there wasn't a next time, too. He didn't entirely regret taking this pain for the sake of justice, but that didn't make him any more sure of being able to take this again.

Morgana and Gwen left after that, leaving him alone with Merlin, the warlock running his fingers through Arthur's hair. It was almost impossibly relaxing, and Arthur wondered if there was any magic involved.

For a while, they remained there in silence, before Arthur mumbled, "It was worth it, you know." Because it hurt – beyond hurt – but he had his arms wrapped around the reason it was worth the pain, and knew he could do it again if he had to.

Merlin's fingers froze for a moment, ending that impossible feeling of simple comfort until Arthur made a noise in protest that prompted Merlin back into the action.

"What was?" Merlin asked. As if he didn't know.

"That man. You. All of it."

Merlin sighed. "Arthur, how many times do I have to tell you? I'll be all right."

"That man wasn't." And if that man weren't there, it would've been Merlin.

"He healed an entire court right in front of Uther's eyes."

"And you know that you would've done the same," Arthur said. He sighed. "I was _glad_ that the man died – that it was him, and not you. I know I probably shouldn't, but…"

Merlin didn't respond.

"I…" Arthur sighed, burying his face into the inside of Merlin's thigh, taking a deep breath, then turning his head to crane his neck up at Merlin, again. He took in the stressed lines of Merlin's face, the worried expression and love-filled eyes. "You're worth this."

"But it wasn't for me," Merlin said softly.

"When I'm king," Arthur said, laying his head back down and ignoring Merlin's last jibe. "I'm going to make this right. I'll lift the ban on magic, and make you Court Sorcerer… and Morgana will be Court Seer, or maybe Prophet? Prophesier? No, forget it, just Court Seer, that'll be good…"

Arthur continued describing his plans, going into great detail, laying it all out and already thinking through who would support them and who would oppose them and where Merlin's new rooms would be, if purely for appearances-

And then he realized the other man hadn't even heard him. If he had, he would've likely protested rather vehemently at Arthur giving him a room in the royal wings of the castle.

"_Mer_lin!"

Merlin looked down with an amused smirk. Idiotic prick.

"Yes?"

But _his_ idiotic prick.

No longer content with feeling Merlin by just his head and arms, he bade Merlin to lie beside him on the best, and Merlin complied, slipping under the covers, Arthur draping himself atop Merlin, pressing his face into Merlin's neck, both men wrapping their arms around each other as Arthur said, "Morgana was right – this _isn__'__t_ right."

"And you'll fix it when you're king," Merlin said, in a slightly exasperated way. "For now, just focus on getting better, hm?"

"Fine," Arthur said, indulging in a petulant mood and adding, "And you'll help me fix it as Court Sorcerer…"

Merlin smiled and nodded. His eyes flashed gold, and all the candles in the room went out while another log piled into the fire.

Arthur growled – Merlin using his magic for any of the chores involving fire always reminded him far too closely of exactly what would happen should the king find out about Merlin's magic.

"I'm not even _near_ the flames!" Merlin protested, and Arthur internally scowled, wishing he could feel as secure as Merlin did.

He turned his face and huffed into Merlin's neck, and a moment later, felt those familiar fingers card through his hair again.

"Bloody noble prat," Merlin said.

"You said tha', already," Arthur mumbled, in lieu of saying, '_your_ bloody noble prat.' Because it was entirely true.

"Well it bears saying again," Merlin said.

"You're one to talk," Arthur groused, and Merlin laughed as Arthur continued with, "Apparently, we're both a bit too noble for our own goods. But it's _required_ of me! You just do it to try and kill me from terror every other week."

"If I'm to be Court Sorcerer, one day, shouldn't I hold myself to the same standards as that of high nobility?" Damnit – one of the best tricks in the art of logic, throwing someone's own logic and words back at them.

Luckily, they weren't really fighting on the ground of logic all that much, anyway.

"Not if it gets you nearly killed all the time," Arthur said, before nipping at the skin below those thin, pink lips.

Merlin smiled and said, "Ah, but see, I never get _actually_ killed, just _nearly_ killed."

Arthur grunted and nipped at Merlin again, saying "There isn't much of a difference." Because only Merlin would be blind to that.

"…Erm, Arthur? Dead versus alive is a _big_ difference." Unless, of course, his idiot were still back at the logic stage of their argument.

"Not in how much you terrify me when you do something stupid," Arthur said. Because the amount his heart stopped in fear for Merlin couldn't possibly be healthy.

"That's just payback for all the stupid things _you_ get into," Merlin said, tone serious despite the playful words. And he seemed to have missed the part where it was _Arthur__'__s_ job to risk his life for others, not Merlin's.

He scoffed and used what little leverage he could to pull Merlin closer, ignoring the sharp pains that exploded all across his back at the slight exertion of pulling Merlin closer and tightening his grip around that thin frame.

It was worth it. _He_ was worth it.

"So we're both idiots?" Merlin tried a moment later, and Arthur couldn't help himself: he laughed.

"I guess so. I think Morgana may have a point in the possibility of both of us getting ourselves killed before I'm king." He was pretty sure they'd argued about that at some point on the way up here.

"I thought that was Gwen?" Merlin asked, confused.

"No, she thinks we'll kill _each other_ before I'm king," Arthur retorted.

"Same difference."

Another laugh, before Arthur hissed at the pain from the pulled wounds. "I guess…" he said.

"Considering how good Gaius and Uther are at their jobs, we'll have a _lot_ of time to think through these things," Merlin offered. And damnit, he was right. "Let's just make it to your kingship and work our way from there."

Arthur sighed, nodded, and craned his neck as Merlin leaned down and pressed their lips together, sealing their promises with a kiss.

And one day, this would all be right again, because Arthur was nothing if not a man of his word.

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A/N:**** Comments are love.  
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